After the End of the World
by veritas6.5
Summary: Post COE. Jack has lived through too many unthinkable deaths, and guilt and regret are killing him. Gwen is determined to help him survive and go on. Gwen/Jack, really.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to the BBC and RTD. I don't own the characters or concepts. I can only wish.

Many thanks to my wonderful betas, karaokegal and quiet time. They spent lots of time encouraging a first-time posting.

What Should Never Have Happened

_How long they stayed like that, Gwen didn't know._ She was kneeling on the floor of the gymnasium that they were using as a makeshift morgue next to the body labeled number fourteen. Jack pulled himself up close and she felt his tears on her shoulder as they both stared at what should never have happened. They held each other until their tears stopped.

As Gwen stared fixedly at Ianto's terribly still face, a stranger's slender hand gently began to loosen the double Windsor knot in the tie at his throat. Gwen touched the hand, "Don't," she said. "He wore it like that," and Gwen was the one to pull the red coverlet back up over him. She looked up into Martha Jones's tear-streaked face.

"I got here as soon as I could," Martha said. "I'm so sorry." Martha motioned to the U.N.I.T. people behind her and they carefully put Ianto's body onto a stretcher. "We'll take care of him." She gestured at Jack, who was now resting his head against Gwen's back. Gwen waited until they had moved away with the stretcher, and turned slightly, disturbing Jack into movement. He made a soft sound, and she gently said, "Shh. Martha was here." She turned to take him into her arms. "Let's go home now."

"Where is home?" he gritted out. He shuddered, then stood up, regaining control of himself and helped Gwen to her feet.

"Come with Rhys and me," she said firmly, and took his arm to lead him away.

Outside the door, Jack straightened, cleared his throat, and pulled his arm from Gwen's grasp. "No," he said, "I have something I have to do first."

She watched him stride away, and she was frozen with fear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Day One**

_And again, after the world ended again,_ after she heard about the horrific events that finally ended the 456's terror, Gwen moved heaven and earth trying to find out where Jack had disappeared to after he sent her and Rhys back to Cardiff. She called on Martha Jones to enlist the help of U.N.I.T., reached and offered her condolences to Ianto's sister Rhiannon, and finally found herself, a fruitless week later, standing outside the ruins of the Hub. Inside, U.N.I.T. were sifting through the broken messes of Torchwood Three. In the watery sunshine of the Plas, she finally sank, forlorn, onto one of the benches well away from the crater where the water column had stood.

Martha found her there. "I have some good news." She said, as she joined Gwen on the bench. "We found Jack."

Gwen turned to face her. "Where is he? How is he?"

Martha studied her hands for a moment, and said, "Not all of the Hub was completely destroyed. Jack had the presence of mind to stay as far upwards as he could get before the bomb exploded, so the archives and the crypts and cells are mostly ok, but the workstations, the autopsy room, and the cold storage there, are all gone."

"Gray's gone, then." Gwen said softly. "That will hit him hard."

"The archives are in major confusion, but the cell levels and the levels below them are almost intact," Martha continued. "We found Jack on the eleventh level, below the cells, in the crypts. It's where we put Ianto."

Gwen scrambled to her feet, and Martha put out a hand to stop her. "Just a warning. He's sitting down there, pale as death. I think he may respond to you. Do you want to give it a try?"

Gwen nodded. "Take me in, would you? The U.N.I.T. guys wouldn't let me through." They walked quickly to the main entry door on the quay.

_Picking her way through the debris_ in Martha's wake, Gwen peered anxiously around in the mess that was being carefully reconstructed. There were sparks flying everywhere as the twisted girders were cut and re-welded to their proper places, and the crunching of ceramic shards made walking difficult until they came closer to the stairs leading to the cells. All the cells were empty. The polycarbide doors had been blown off their hinges and hung awry. Martha and Gwen walked the length of the hallway fronting the cells until they reached the stairs that took them down past the last of the five levels of cells, to the archives and the crypts.

The door to the archives was open, and streams of U.N.I.T. operatives were carrying out large boxes filled with the arcana and artefacts that had been collected since Torchwood Three began its operations. Most of the articles were dusty, but each was neatly catalogued with a tag or a note, and Gwen's breath caught at the glimpse she got of Ianto's precise labelling. The archives were his pride and joy, his way of making a contribution by bringing order to the chaotic and totally foreign collections on the shelves. She turned away, biting at her lower lip.

Two more steps down at the end of the hall, and Martha stopped Gwen from proceeding. She pointed, and whispered, "There."

At first, in the dim light, until her eyes adjusted, all that Gwen saw was the heap of cloth that resolved itself into Jack's blue-grey greatcoat. He was sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up, arms tight around them, making himself as small as possible. Gwen could see the slow rise and fall of his chest, and he was rocking slightly. Martha pointed to the crypt above Jack's head, and mouthed "Ianto".

Gwen put her hand to her mouth and drew a slow breath before she walked slowly over to the corner where Jack sat. She reached out to touch his shoulder. He shrugged her off, not looking up. "Jack," she whispered. He managed to look up to her. His face was expressionless, lips bloodied, cheeks sunken. Dried tear tracks marked their way through the smudges on his face, and Gwen noted that his hands were caked with dirt and mud. The pale blue shirt was soiled, and Jack's eyes were dimmed and hooded. She heard Martha close the door to give them some privacy.

"Jack," she repeated. "How long have you been here?"

He shrugged.

She took hold of one of his cold hands, and saw that the fingertips were ragged, torn, and bloody. She looked up at the crypt, and saw scratches on the face of it. He lifted his eyes to follow her gaze and sighed heavily. "I know, it's useless," he said quietly. He dropped his head onto his knees.

Gwen put her hand on the back of his head and stroked his hair where it was matted with dirt and dried blood. She inhaled sharply. She made herself kneel in front of him and lifted his head with her fingertips under his chin. "Jack," she repeated, trying to get his full attention, "can you stand up?"

"Don't want to," he muttered. "Go away."

"I'm not leaving without you," she said quietly. Gwen stood up. "Come on, now." She pulled at his hand. "You can't stay here."

"Why not?" he said softly. "Why do I have to go on?"

"Because," Gwen said, trying to keep her voice firm, "it's what we do." She swallowed hard, and pulled at his hand again.

"NO!" he roared, then his voice dropped, "Not this time. I have nothing left!"

"I'm left," she repeated quietly. "Come along for me, Jack."

He looked desperately up at her. "You're all I have now," he rasped, and tightened his hold on her hand. "The others are _all_ dead."

She sat down again and put her arms around him. "It's not your fault."

"Toshiko and Owen didn't deserve to die like that," he whispered. "Neither did Ianto. Or Stephen. I was _responsible_ for all those people."

"You aren't yourself right now, Jack," she said softly. "You're not thinking clearly."

"These are the last deaths I'm going to be responsible for," he went on. "I've seen too many years of destruction. Why am I the one who doesn't die?" He stifled a sob.

"People die. We're in a dangerous business," she said. "You sacrificed yourself to save both Ianto and me at the Hub."

"But I'm the reason Gray attacked the Hub. _He was trying to punish me._ But he missed me. Tosh bled to death on the floor in agony, _because I left her here._ Owen was . . . _vapourized_, _and I sent him to his death._" He looked up at her "They were _good_ people; Owen was just finding a reason to live a real life again."

"And you will, too," she soothed. "You know it wasn't your fault. We all knew the risks involved in working for Torchwood." She stood up again, "Come with me, Jack. Let's get out of here. This isn't doing either of us any good."

Jack's rocking stopped. He sat still for a long moment, and Gwen wondered if she had gotten through to him. "I don't know where to go," he admitted slowly.

She sniffed back her tears, "I'm taking you back to mine."

Minutes passed before Jack moved. Gwen waited silently, patiently. Suddenly, Jack heaved himself to his feet, holding on to the walls for support. He shook his head and said, with a hollow trace of his old bravado, "Let's go, then. I guess it's time to get the fuck out of here." With a quick glance, and a caress to the flat door of Ianto's crypt, he led her to the door, pushing it open with a bang. She scrambled to keep up with him.

Martha flattened herself against the wall as Jack pulled Gwen swiftly past, and Gwen shot her a thankful look without letting go of Jack's hand. They made their way up the stairs. Jack's manic pace didn't flag as they climbed up through the ruins. He nodded curtly at the U.N.I.T. workers, but didn't slow down. Gwen was content to follow in his wake, maintaining a watchful eye. They burst through the door onto the quay, and she closed it behind them. As Jack's steps slowed, she took the lead and steered him towards her Saab. She saw Martha come out the quay door behind them, and hold her hand to her ear, signalling "call me," and Gwen nodded before they were out of sight.

She opened the passenger side door to her car. Jack shot her a questioning look, but got in, grimacing as he lifted his left leg over the sill. All the energy he had mustered to get out of the Hub ruins seemed to drain from him, and he slumped in the seat with his eyes closed. She reached to touch his cheek, but he pushed her hand away, pulling his coat tight around himself.

Jack seemed to be asleep by the time she had parked the car outside her flat. She opened his door, and he stirred heavily. "Come on now, Jack," she said. "Let's get you upstairs." He opened his eyes, squinted at the light, and moved to get out of the car, but his strength had finally deserted him and his legs collapsed under him, leaving him sprawled in the street. Gwen pulled his arm around her neck and tried to treat it lightly as she hauled him to his feet. "You poor sod, you're knackered, aren't you? Help me now, 'cos I can't carry you, you know."

Lifting, pulling, and struggling, she managed to get him up the stairs and into her flat. She checked the clock in the kitchen. Rhys wouldn't be home for hours yet. She led Jack directly into the bedroom, and made him sit on the bed. "I think the first order of business," she said, with a cheerfulness she did not feel, "is to get you out of your clothes . . ." she stopped.

He looked up at her with a very small hint of his usual cockiness, "I thought you'd never ask . . ." and then his face changed abruptly, and his eyes suddenly overflowed.

Remembering Jack's earlier withdrawal from her touch, Gwen held back from wiping his tears away, and busied herself getting him out of the filthy greatcoat. Her quilt wasn't going to benefit from the muddy chunks falling from the coat. She wrested him free of it and dropped it onto the floor. "That'll not be the same until it's brushed," she told him as she knelt to take off his boots and socks.

Gwen tried to hide her shock at Jack's condition. His skin was crusted with filth, like his face and hands. He smelled of dirt and sweat. That just wasn't the Jack she knew.

She stood up and slipped the braces off his shoulders, then unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers. It went onto the floor with the coat, probably beyond redemption. The vest was next, and as she pulled it over his head, she had the shock of her life. Beneath the dirt, his torso was one massive bruise. He was purple and blue and grey all over. There were small and large and barely clotted abrasions and breaks in the skin all over his body, front and back. "What happened to you?" she whispered.

He shook his head, refusing to speak, and she pushed him gently back onto the bed so she could undo his belt and remove his trousers. Pulling them off _(in her imagination, she had thought she might have savoured this moment a bit more)_ revealed still more ugly bruising and a large seeping wound on his upper left thigh. She took hold of the waistband of his shorts, and gently lowered them off his body, kneeling again to bring them down his legs. The bruising continued into his groin. She knelt at his feet, overwhelmed by the damage showing on his body. "Oh, Jack," she whispered. She drew a deep breath, stood up, and pulled him upright to a sitting position.

She removed his watch, and unbuckled his vortex/wrist strap. "I'll just put these into this drawer. All right now," she said gently, "into the shower with you and get some of that dirt off." He stood up obediently, and let her lead him into the bath. She adjusted the water to a warm spray and he stepped into the flow in the shower enclosure. "There's shampoo and soap right there on the ledge," she said. "Take your time, and I'll just go and get some coffee going . . ." She fled the bathroom and the sight of his wrecked body.

Gwen's phone was already in her hand by the time she made it into the lounge. But her attempt to reach Martha was interrupted by a loud, clattering crash from the bathroom, and the cell fell to the floor as she hurried back to Jack.

Jack had slumped to the floor in the shower, and was curled into himself, as she had found him in the crypt. He was shivering uncontrollably. Gwen ripped the curtain back and knelt to take him into her arms. "My poor boy, oh, Jack," she crooned, cradling his head, and holding him tightly to her. The water from the shower continued to pour down on them, soaking her as she rocked him in her arms like a child.

Gwen gave Martha a stricken look when she rushed into the flat only a few minutes later. Martha turned off the water, and she and Gwen half-carried Jack into the bedroom. The water had rinsed some of the grime from him, and the bruises stood out in sharp relief against the few inches of undamaged skin on his body.

Once they had him toweled off, and in the bed, they covered him with the duvet. Gwen pulled on dry clothes, sweater and jeans. "Martha, how do you suppose this could have happened? How is it that he can even _look_ like this?" she whispered.

Martha folded back the coverlet to examine the wound on his thigh. It was a long and jagged gash that had begun to bleed again. "It looks like his regenerative powers haven't been activated. Maybe because he hasn't actually died." She started to clean and stitch the wound. "Have you ever seen him hurt this badly before?"

"No," Gwen admitted, " never like this. I knew something was seriously wrong when I saw his hands all torn and bloody."

"Yeah," said Martha. She finished up with the wound on his thigh, and covered him. He didn't stir. She gestured to the heap of filthy clothes in the corner. "I was on my way over with some clean clothes of his I found in the Hub, figuring he'd need them, when your call came in as dead air.

"Get a washing flannel," Martha directed, "and let's finish getting him cleaned off before he wakes up. He's going to be hurting." Together, they washed him and covered him again, Martha measured his vital signs again, and stepped away. "I think the sedation is wearing off. He seems to be asleep."

"Jack doesn't sleep." Gwen said quietly.

"He doesn't need much sleep," Martha corrected. She took Gwen's hand and drew her out to the lounge, forcing her to sit on the sofa. "But he's sleeping now, and that's probably the best we can do for him. Are you okay?"

Gwen shook her head. "I don't think I'll be okay ever again," she said.

"When will Rhys be home?" Martha asked.

Rhys's booming voice answered her back. "Rhys _is_ home. Hello, sweetheart," he said to Gwen. "Hullo, Martha." He put down his briefcase, took off his jacket. He sat down next to Gwen on the sofa and wrapped his arms around her. She turned in to his embrace and started to cry. He looked up at Martha, "What's going on?"

"We've found Jack. Gwen managed to get him back here, and he's asleep in your bed."

Rhys's temper flared. "What is Jack bloody Harkness doing in MY bed?"

Gwen pulled away from him and dragged him into the bedroom. Angrily, she stripped the coverlet off Jack's body. "There, Rhys! In your bed! In my bed! That's the man you've always been jealous of. Look at him! A real threat to you he is. Would you like to pummel him? Go on, find an undamaged spot, and have at it!" She drew the covers back up gently, and sank to the floor next to the bed.

Rhys knelt to gather her into his arms, "No, love. Come back to the lounge with me. I just wasn't thinking. What's happened to him?"

Martha answered from the kitchen where she was filling up the teapot. "We don't know. We'll have to wait until he wakes up and ask him."

"Will he wake up?" Gwen asked, "Are you sure?"

"Oh, yeah," Martha scoffed. "That's not enough damage to keep his lot down. In case he doesn't start to heal, I'm going to leave you with some painkillers. He might need them when he comes round." She brought a cup of tea to Gwen, along with some little blue pills. "And these are for you. Take them, Gwen. You're on the ragged edge yourself. I'll come back in a few hours, but I have to get back to the Hub right now, and see what else they may have uncovered. Rhys, see if she'll sleep after those sedatives kick in for her." She looked into Gwen's eyes. "Eat something, try to rest a bit. He's going to be okay." She gathered up her medical bag. "I promise."

"Owen would never have promised," Gwen said dully.

"I promise," Martha repeated quietly. And she left.

Gwen clung to Rhys, and he held her tightly. "Ah, Gwen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean all that by it. I just didn't think we'd see him again, with Torchwood being destroyed and all. And what you told me about that boy he killed . . ."

"He _sacrificed_ his grandson, Rhys. He felt had to sacrifice his own flesh-and-blood grandson to save this rotting Earth for the rest of us. Can you imagine what that did to him?" She put her hand on her belly, as if to protect the new life inside. "Can you imagine what it would do to you? After losing Tosh and Owen like that, and then Ianto?"

Rhys touched her face, and wiped away her tears as best he could, kissing her eyelids shut. "Gwen, I know you'll always love him in a way. I can live with that, he's saved us and the whole bloody world often enough. What can I do to help you help him?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "It's shaken me more than I can say to see him come apart at the seams."

"Maybe," Rhys mused, with insight rare for him, "He just couldn't manage it anymore."

She nodded, and they sat quietly as the day faded. Gwen eventually fell asleep in Rhys's arms.

A few hours later, he touched her gently. "Gwen, I think he's awake. Will you go to him?" She shook sleep out of her eyes and ran into the bedroom. Jack was half awake, moaning in pain. She found the tablets Martha had left, and got him a bit of water in a glass.

"Take these please, Jack," she said softly.

"Cold," he mumbled, "I'm cold." The shivering started again. Gwen lifted his head and helped him to take the pills. Then she went to the closet and pulled out another blanket and spread it over him.

"Better?"

He shook his head, "No. So cold."

Rhys stood in the doorway, listening.

She shook her head. "Jack, we're going to get you warmed up right now. Rhys, get another blanket from the back room," and she started stripping down to her underwear. "What?" she snapped as she slid beneath the blankets, wrapping Jack in her arms, skin to skin.

"Nothing," Rhys said, lying down atop the covers on Jack's other side. Gwen stared at him in wonder. "We've got to get him warm, don't we? But I'm not taking off my clothes."


	3. Chapter 3

**Day Two**

_It was morning before they all woke up,_ Gwen and Jack tangled in the blankets, and each other. Gwen stared over Jack at Rhys, who had his arms around both of them. She smiled, and nestled a little closer to Jack. It was one thing to finally realise the fantasy of waking up with Jack in her bed, still another to find her husband there too. It was Martha's low chuckle from the bedroom doorway that brought Gwen completely awake.

"Nice." Martha said. "If I thought there was room, I'd consider joining you!"

Jack spoke slurrily for the first time that morning. "The more the merrier, I always say."

Gwen propped herself up to look at his face. "You're awake?"

"Been awake for a little while, didn't want to wake you." He still didn't open his eyes, but said, "Damned if I don't know how this happy circumstance came about, but I'm all for it."

Rhys snorted in derision, and rolled off his side of the bed. Gwen smiled.

Martha drew closer and touched Jack's forehead. "No fever, that's good. Strong pulse, you seem to be doing all right." She pulled the covers down to look at his upper torso. The bruises were still there, changed somewhat in colour, but not really fading. He lifted his head from the pillow and winced.

"Does your head hurt?" she inquired.

"Pounding," he said.

Gwen slipped out of the bed and grabbed a robe for herself. "We'll leave you to it, then?"

"Stay," Jack said. "Gwen, stay here. Please."

Rhys shrugged. Gwen gave him a grateful look and he winked back at her with a half smile. Jack reached for Gwen's hand, and she stroked his fingers as Martha opened her bag. Martha measured his vital signs, examined his torso and his arms and ran a scanner over his body. "You've got a few broken ribs and very serious contusions, some certainly more than three days old. How'd you get these bruises, Jack? And where have you been for the past week? Do you remember?"

He shifted uncomfortably as Martha pulled the blanket away from his left leg. The stitches she had put in the night before were inflamed and puffy. "I might have, um, fallen off a building, maybe jumped off a cliff, dived into traffic, I don't really remember," he admitted. "That hurts!" he protested as she touched his leg.

Gwen stared at him. "Why would you do that, Jack?"

He parroted her words back to her, distracted from the pain, with all traces of witty response evaporating into bitterness. "_'Why would you do that, Jack?' _Why? I was trying very hard to kill myself, okay? I tried everything I could think of. I just want to die and stay dead for once!" He ground his teeth together in a parody of his usual easy smile. "I'm just so sick and tired of _living_. People die. They grow old and die. Or they die young, _because of me._ Why do I have to keep living? What's left?" He drew a shuddering breath. "I keep coming back, why? Why can't I just _fucking_ die?" he screamed.

Martha sat back. "I think you _are_ dying, Jack."

Gwen looked up at her. "What are you saying?"

"He's not healing. All we managed to do was get most of the dirt off him, Gwen. The stitches I put into his leg are not healing, the wound isn't even closing. At all. Under normal conditions, anyone's injuries would have at least begun to mend, even if very slowly. I see no change. How long were you in the crypts, Jack?"

He shook his head and winced. "I don't know, three days, five days? I tried to open the crypt where you put Ianto . . . ," he choked, "Ianto's . . . body. I thought maybe I could find a way to bring him back. Or maybe it was a mistake, and he wasn't really dead. I don't know." He struggled to sit up, and Martha pushed pillows behind him to support his back. "You know, the problem with a long life is that it comes with a long memory. I don't know when I started feeling that I was a useless waste of time. I use a dead man's name. I pretended to be my own son just to keep Estelle in my life for a little longer! How low can I sink? And I thought maybe if I would just get out of Torchwood's way, it would get better. But I couldn't find anything better."

Gwen dropped his hand, and covered her mouth with both her hands in horror. "We need you, Jack. I need you."

"Oh, Gwen," he pleaded. "Let me go. I've lived too long as it is."

Martha finally spoke. "The injuries you have won't heal. Any dirt or aggravation will become infections. That's what's happening. Somehow maybe you've managed to override even your normal human healing responses or whatever power it is that keeps bringing you back." Her voice held a note of disapproval. "You've had the most amazing gift a human has ever been given, and you're throwing it away."

"You think so? Try living through what I have. See all your friends, all your lovers die, leaving you alone. You know rejection and 'alone,' Martha?" he asked bitterly.

"I traveled with the Doctor too, Jack. Both of us had a choice. He's been living for, what, 900 years, give or take, hasn't he?"

"He regenerates! I've been the same man for almost 150 years and I'm just tired of it," he argued, and shook his head. "I never asked for this 'gift'." He gritted his teeth. "I can't. I don't want to." He choked again. "Ianto died _begging_ me not to forget him. I can't forget any of them. I should never have let him come along with me. How do I go on after that? And Stephen," he had to stop talking for a long moment, "what did that little boy do to deserve that death? I knew that he would die, but I hardly gave it a thought. He was convenient." He drew a shuddering breath. "Ask Alice how she feels about what her _father_ did to her _son_." He spit out the last words.

Martha appeared to consider her next words carefully. She laid her hand against his face and spoke softly. "Jack, can I do anything for you?"

"Just _let me die_."

"How can you ask that of us?" Gwen shouted. It was too much. She'd already lost Ianto, she wasn't going to let Jack go this easily. All the grief and helplessness filled her with a kind of madness, and she slapped his face hard enough to leave an imprint of her hand on his cheek.

"Yeah," Jack said, "Go ahead, hit me again. I deserve it."

Rhys came back into the room and pulled Gwen off Jack, holding her tightly as she fought him. "Gwen, leave off. Respect the man's wishes."

She turned to Rhys, her out-of-control anger now directed at him. "You've always wanted him out of my life," she accused him. "I won't say I'd never had another lover before we married, but it was never Jack! _Never Jack! _But you always suspected us. And now, _I wish I had. _He was always a perfect gentleman, but I _wanted_ him. Oh, how I wanted him!" She turned to Jack again. "But _you_ would never ask. Or take. Now you want to leave me for good, and you think I should be granted the _honour_ of watching you _die?"_ She was screaming. "Don't leave me, Jack, please don't leave me."

Martha stood up. "Everybody stop. Just stop. This isn't getting any of us anywhere. Jack, are you in pain? Physical pain?"

He nodded tightly.

She pulled out a syringe, loaded it from a vial, and shot it into his arm. He relaxed immediately, and his breathing slowed. He sighed, drew a deeper breath. "I'm sorry, so sorry, all of you." His eyes were starting to close. "Especially you, Gwen. You told me that no one else would have you, and that broke my heart, but I was finally able to see what you had with Rhys, and I couldn't offer you any of that. I _am_ what Owen said I was, an intergalactic con man. I wanted _you_ to have a happy life, a non-Torchwood life. Look what being with me did to Owen and Tosh and Ianto." He moved restlessly. "I wanted to spare you that . . ." and his voice trailed off as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Later that day, while Jack was still asleep and Gwen was holding herself together by main force, Rhys surprised her, coming into the lounge where Gwen sat with Jack's coat on her lap, cleaning the dirt and mud off it with a clothes brush, just keeping her hands busy, while Martha spoke quietly with her, outlining a plan for Jack's care.

Rhys sat on the settee next to Gwen and took the brush from her hands. He kissed her gently and spoke quietly. "I love you. Always have, always will. And I know you love me. You and me, we're meant for each other. But right now, you have to do what you can to save your world, and I know that, to you, that means saving Jack, whether he wants you to or not. I don't know what it will take, but if it can be done, I know you can do it. Or you'll always regret not trying." He put a finger to her lips. "Don't deny it. Don't even speak."

Gwen felt her eyes widening. She had spotted the suitcase Rhys had left in the hall. "What's that? Where are you going?"

"I have to go to Manchester for a couple of days, remember, and when I come back, I'll go to Dav's. I don't want you to call me until you have finished working this through for yourself."

Gwen recognised his statement for the thin excuse it was. "I'm pregnant," she whimpered, "with your child, Rhys. Our baby will be born in less than seven months. Our baby."

"And what good will it do him if his mother is beset with misery and regret? What if the world ends before he can grow up? What if _your_ world ends?" He touched her tummy gently. "I know. Do what you must do. Baby'll be fine. He's of good Welsh stock."

"Or she," Gwen whispered. She blinked back a tear. "I want to find a way to save Jack, Rhys."

"I know," he kissed her lovingly, picked up his suitcase and left the flat with only one longing look back to Gwen.

Both women were shocked into silence. Martha took Gwen's shaking hands. "Interesting gesture."

Gwen nodded. She took a deep breath. "Where did that come from?"

Martha shrugged. "The twenty-first century's when everything changes."

"Can I help Jack? How can I do it? Can it be done?"

"I don't know. If I could reach the Doctor . . . he might know something."

Gwen snorted. "I'd like to get my hands on this Doctor! Where the hell is he when Jack needs him?"

"He may be smart enough to leave this to us." Martha chuckled. "Maybe this time it _is_ up to you." She started putting items into a bag to leave for Gwen. "These pills are to relieve pain. Use one of these syringes if the pills don't do it. Call me if you need me." She kissed Gwen's forehead. "If it can't be done, at least we've tried."

Alone. Pregnant. A dying man in her bed. No idea of what to do next.

Gwen paced the floor for a while. Drank some coffee.

Considered a second cup, and rejected it. Brushed the coat some more.

Looked in on Jack, who was tossing fitfully, but still asleep.

Took a shower and washed her hair.

Checked again on Jack. Still sleeping.

Cried for a little while.

Ate some crackers for lunch, then, remembering she was pregnant, drank a glass of milk and took her prenatal vitamins.

_Gwen was jolted awake by a shout from Jack. Found him lying face-down and moaning._

"_I'm here," she said, smoothing his hair. She was distracted by the unruly cowlick at the nape of his neck, the hair that always wanted to go sideways. She caught her breath. Her fingertips stroked his cheek. "Are you okay?"_

"_No, not really," he rasped. "Where's Martha?"_

"_Gone. Rhys too." She let her fingertips explore the side of his face. She had waited so long to do that, trace his lips, the line of his jaw, his ear. She pulled away, embarrassed by the feelings touching him in this way had brought up in her._

"_That feels good," he murmured. "Forgive me?"_

"_For wanting to die? No," she said._

_He turned over in the bed, mussing the bedclothes, freeing his arms. He struggled to sit up in the bed. "They're both gone?" Gwen nodded, her eyes huge. "We're alone?" She nodded again. "Why did they leave you?"_

"_I'm going to help you, Jack. Or I'll die trying."_

_He chuckled. "Funny thing to tell a dying man."_

_Gwen hissed at him. "Stop saying that!"_

"_Yeah? Make me," he challenged her._

_She was on him faster than she thought she could move. She pressed him back against the pillows and attacked him with her hands, her lips. She kissed him as hard as she could. There was no gentleness in her. She forced his lips apart with her tongue, exploring the wetness and the warmth of his mouth. Finally, she drew back and said "I've wanted that for a very long time."_

"_Hell," he complained. "Now that I'm dying, she decides she can't live without me."_

_Gwen stripped the covers from him._

"_What are you doing?" he asked._

"_What we both want. . . ."_

She woke with a start, crying out, "Not like that!" She was still on the settee, and she could hear Jack whimpering.

She rushed into the bedroom to find him tossing from side to side, his face streaming sweat, and didn't pause to ask before injecting him with one of the syringes. The effect was almost immediate. He gasped. "What the hell is that stuff?"

"Does it help?" She ran to the bathroom to wet a towel and bring it back to him.

"Yeah, it helps. I'm flying," he said. "I can't feel my hands."

"That's temporary," she assured him. She knelt on the bed and gently wiped his face, neck, and his arms and hands. "Rhys and Martha have gone."

"Where?"

"Martha back to the Hub, and Rhys to Manchester on 'business.' They both thought I should be alone with you for a while."

He grinned at her, that gorgeous, brilliant grin of his, the one that always melted Gwen's heart. "What do you think that means?"

"For starters, I think you need to make another go at a decent shower, while you're still 'flying,' and I'll find you a toothbrush."

"That sounds like a good idea," he admitted. "But I don't know if I can stand up by myself."

"I'll help you," she said, tugging the coverlet off him.

"I'm still naked," he warned, with a leering grin. "Starkers."

"Yeah," she shrugged, "I've seen that before, who hasn't?"

He stumbled a bit getting out of the bed, but she guided him to the shower, where she had placed a wooden bench. "Sit here," she said, "and be careful. I can't pick you up by myself."

Gwen made sure he was steady before she left him alone. When she returned a few minutes later, she watched him luxuriating under the stream of water as the room filled with steam. She stepped closer, and took a soft soapy cloth to his back, gently rubbing. Shampoo and a rinse, and his hair was clean. He put out a hand to touch her, and opened his eyes.

"I'm taking you back to bed," she bent down to kiss his forehead.

"But . . ." he protested.

"Hush." She moved his hand to her shoulder for support, "I think you're clean enough." She turned off the shower and reached for a fluffy white towel. She patted him dry, mindful of the bruises and other injuries. Then she helped him back to the bed.

She had changed the sweat-soaked sheets and laid him gently back against clean pillows. She was wearing a pair of flannel pajamas, but took off her robe, and slipped into the bed beside him, pulling the sheet modestly over herself.

She chuckled at the look on his face. "I didn't think anything could surprise you, Jack."

"You've done it, though. What's this all about?"

"You silly idiot," she said. "If you think I'm letting you die without getting a good snog out of you first, you're out of your damned mind." She snuggled up close to his side, avoiding the worst of his injuries, and made him turn to face her.

"How about a nice luxurious shag?" he suggested, licking his lips.

"I doubt you're up to it," she challenged.

"I'm up _for_ it," he leered at her. "But you are right," he admitted sadly. "I'd probably pass out before we got too far."

She put her arms around him. "Let me just hold you, Jack."

He turned his face away from hers. "I don't deserve any comfort. I've let everyone down. Even the Doctor . . ."

She could hear his breath catch. She ran her fingers through his hair and smoothed his forehead. "Just relax," she whispered, "turn over. I won't leave you alone."

"I think," he spat out, "that this constant pity will eventually begin to bore even me."

"Shh," Gwen said.

"You've seen what I've done," he said, "How can you forgive me over and over?"

"Because I _have_ seen what you've done, Jack. I've seen you stand firm against overwhelming odds and save the whole world over and over again. I can't imagine where you find that courage." She ran her hands down from his neck to his shoulder blades, holding him, "and you've been doing it for how long? No one can be forever unaffected. Small wonder that you broke down. I loved them too, Ianto and Tosh and Owen. And you. It's taken me a long time to try to figure out exactly what you mean to me, and now I know. You mean the world to me. How can I let you die?"

He was silent in her embrace. He turned suddenly to face her. "You won't allow me to give up this life, will you?"

She wrapped her arms around him again, drawing him near again. "Not if I can help it," she said.

She let him move nearer to kiss her, gently at first, then more insistently. When he bit at her lower lip, and pressed her mouth open, slipping his tongue in, she thought she could feel her heart swelling. But she pushed him gently away, and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Right now, you need rest more than you need anything else. So turn over again, and I'll hold you until you sleep."

He made a frustrated face at her, but he turned over and let her embrace him. She touched his cheek, then stroked his hair until he fell asleep. An idea was growing in her mind. She didn't know if she could carry it off, but she was sure that she was on the right track.


	4. Chapter 4

**Day Three**

_The morning light woke Gwen. _She still had her arms around Jack, and his hand was holding tight to hers. She moved slowly, carefully extricating herself from his grasp, but he woke with a start. "Don't go."

"Neither of us had anything to eat all day yesterday, and god knows how long it's been since you had food," she protested. "I'm hungry. I'm going to make us some breakfast." She touched his cheek again. "Rest a while longer."

Gwen was humming in the kitchen when she heard Jack call to her. "That smells good."

She came into the room with a tray for him. "Breakfast is served. Coffee, toast, and egg." He pulled himself up against the pillows and she put the tray across his lap. The egg shone brightly from its nest in the middle of the toast. "My Mum made egg like this for me when I was sick."

He chuckled and gulped some coffee to avoid any more discussion of the egg, "Good coffee!"

"Don't sound so surprised, it isn't instant. Ianto finally taught me how to make a decent cup." Then she bit her lip. "Sorry, Jack." She sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking one leg under her.

He put down his cup to cover his eyes with both hands, "I'm sorry, Gwen. Guilt is what's killing me."

She took a sip from her own coffee, but didn't speak.

"I don't know where to go from here," he admitted. "I don't know if I _can't_ go on, or if I just don't want to."

"Maybe it will help if we go over to the Hub and see what progress they're making at cleanup?"

"Right now, I don't care if I never see the Hub again," he said vehemently.

"What _do_ you want?" She leaned in to touch his face. "If we can find a way to figure that out, maybe you'll be able to face life."

He leaned closer and reached for her, taking her face in his hands. He brought her closer to him and kissed her tenderly. When he released her, she sat back, shocked.

"Um, what was that for?" she whispered.

"I need you, Gwen," he said.

"But Ianto . . . ?"

"Ianto needed _me_. I took a lot of my own pleasure in giving him what he wanted, and god, I'm going to miss him. He trusted me, he had faith in me, but you arewhat_ I need._"

"Did Ianto know that? Did you ever let Ianto know that he was your second choice?"

He looked away from her. "I think he must have known, on some level. Ianto was never quite sure why I wanted him. Coming back into all your lives after a year away, I thought I was coming back to you, but you were engaged to Rhys by then. I came to Ianto when we were both vulnerable, and he made a decision of his own."

"Why now, Jack?" she said sadly. "You could have said something then. You had plenty of time. I didn't understand why you wouldn't confront the issue. Why not before I married Rhys? I've made promises. Promises I intend to keep."

"When I told you I died every day of that year, I wasn't speaking figuratively. I hung in chains _every day._ And the Master found new ways to torment and kill me _every day._ I screamed my way to death _every day,_ and that was very bad, very bad. But being away from you was the worst of it. When I was able to return to Cardiff, I was looking for peace and redemption, but I just couldn't bring myself to ruin your life."

"Is that why you left us, looking for redemption?"

He didn't answer. "I came back with such a sense of loss. I was thoroughly rejected. . . . I couldn't . . . stay . . . where I was, and without you, it seemed I had no reason to be here either," he said with regret, "After that year of death, I needed to be _desired,_ and Ianto was right in front of me. I'm not proud to admit it was that easy. And I don't want you or anyone to think that he was just a rebound fuck. He was important, not just to the team, but to me."

"I couldn't understand what was going on with you, Jack! You said you came back for me, and you told Ianto you came back for him, but you also said it was for all of us."

"You know I had to say that. _But it was you! _We'd been flirting since the day we met; you changed my life; and I thought I had changed yours, but you were engaged to Rhys. I thought you had shut those feelings down."

"Shut down? Do you remember me saying, 'I'm getting tired of following you around,' and you said, and you looked me right in the eyes, 'No, you're not. And you never will.' Every time you said, 'Gwen, with me,' did you think I didn't feel it, every day, in every glance, every touch . . . ? Every time you looked right at me, and I thought, this time for sure, he'll say it, now he'll say he knows I feel it too, but you never did!"

"You think that was easy for me?" He pulled away from her, breathing like a drowning man. "I had to respect your choice."

"But if you had only said . . . anything more! Or done something!" she cried. Maybe this _was_ the key she'd sought. Maybe something that only she could do, had always wanted to do, would make a difference for him. She spared a momentary thought for Rhys. He would understand. He had to understand. Maybe he already did.

"Maybe I can make you understand how much I need you," Jack said. He reached for her, just as she reached for him, and this time their kisses were passionate, and both of them were clutching at each other as if it was the only way they could survive. Gwen kissed Jack back with a growing hunger, and put her hands on both sides of his face, exploring his eyelids, the curve of his cheeks, the line of his face. They both became breathless with the realisation of what was about to happen. "Will you give me that chance?" he whispered against her face.

She tore herself from his arms and stood by the side of the bed, facing him, panting. She hesitated for a long minute. She didn't break eye contact with him as she slowly removed her clothes, then slipped back into the bed, pressing her body against his. "Do you understand that I want this as much as you do?"

"No more kisses on the cheek? No more hand holding?" he asked.

Gwen slid a hand under the sheet and trailed her fingers down his belly until she reached his groin. He gasped as she traced around him, cupping his balls gently. She felt his erection start to grow. He lifted a hand to pull the sheet off her, and she put his hand back at his side. "This is for the years of seeing you, wanting you," she said, "and waiting for you to reach for me." Her touch on him was feather light. His breathing grew ragged. She turned to face him and put her lips on his. "For now," she whispered, "right now, I'm yours."

He opened his mouth to her insistent tongue and let her explore until he couldn't hold himself back. She felt his hands slip into her hair as he glued his mouth to hers with lascivious hunger. She released his cock and gave herself to his embrace as he rolled over her in the bed, his knee parting her legs.

He raised himself over her and she felt his erection press against her stomach. She let him use part of his strength to hold himself up, supporting him gently. His kisses dropped to her throat, and then to her breast. His ardent kissing was leaving little red marks on her skin. She turned him gently and straddled his hips. "Relax," she whispered. "After waiting all this time, we don't have to hurry." She arched her back, lifted her hips and, guiding him with her hand, helped him slide into her. She bent forward and held herself off his bruises, while moving her hips in small circles. He looked up at her face in wonder. Her breathing came in short gasps, and she bent her head to kiss him. She lifted herself from him as she heard him start to pant.

"Now," he breathed.

"Together," she said. The explosion was all the sweeter for the delay. She rolled below him, taking his weight on top of her to keep him inside her for a little longer. His lips were hot on her throat, and finally, he rested his head on her shoulder. She felt him slip from her, and moved him gently onto his back, nestling into his side. She let him lift her hand to his lips.

"I love your hands," he said, kissing her palm. A deep breath. "Remember your first shooting lesson?"

"You were grinding your hips into my arse," she giggled. "I thought for sure you would kiss me then, and you didn't."

"I was so close," he countered. "But I do have scruples. Some. Sometimes. Time and place."

Gwen felt his energies ebbing. "Right back," she assured him, slipping from the bed to come back with a wet cloth. She wiped him clean of sweat and come, and dried him before she went to the bathroom and cleaned herself. She slipped back into the bed, and covered them both with the sheet.

Jack was shivering slightly. "Cold?" she asked.

"Aftermath," he said.

She wrapped her arms around him. "It'll be even better next time."

"Couldn't be," he sighed.

"Rest, you," she said, "I'll be here when you wake up."

"I don't sleep," he said, his eyes closing.

"Mm-hmm," she whispered to him.

_They woke up _an hour or so later. Gwen got out of the bed and pulled on her clothes. She picked up her cup and headed back to the kitchen, but paused in the doorway. "Would you like more toast? I make excellent toast."

"No more toast," he said. "Answers."

"How's the pain? Would you like something?

He shook his head. "I don't have any pain. I need answers, please."

She climbed back into the bed. "Sure, let's talk. But if you need it, Martha left pills and we have two more syringes left of whatever that was. I gave you one of them last night."

He shook his head, "I don't know what that was, but I just had the wildest dreams."

"Did you now?" She tilted her head and looked at him quizzically, "What were they about?"

"That was real?"

"Maybe."

She got off the bed and folded back the covers to look at the wound on his thigh. It was no longer seeping, and the stitches were clean. She replaced the covers and moved to the head of the bed to search in his hair for the bleeding cut. It was closed, and scabbing over. "This is looking much better."

Jack's face was buried between her breasts. "The view from here is pretty nice, too."

She leaned down and kissed him.

"Nice talking," he mumbled against her lips.

She nibbled at his lower lip. She pulled back just far enough to get a deep breath. "You taste of coffee, and maybe a little of toast and marmalade."

He snorted, and then grinned widely, "I don't get it. This just doesn't make sense."

"It never made sense, Jack. If you want to die, I'm damn sure going to try to stop you, whatever it takes." She kissed him again. "We have this little time to do the things we've both craved since we first met. I've always wanted you, and you knew it."

"Yeah, and you're pregnant with Rhys's baby," he said pointedly.

She looked down at her stomach with feigned indifference. "Yeah. Not beginning to show, though. Still early times. We may just be giving little Gwyneth or Edward some memories of his or her own."

He stared at her incredulously and she giggled.

"Didn't you hope I had a salacious side?"

"Come here, then, and show me how salacious you can be," he said, pulling her into his arms.

She wriggled happily and snuggled up against his side, throwing off the covers and exposing their bodies. She was amazed at the difference in how he looked. "I think your bruises are fading a bit. You're kind of greenish and yellow where you used to be purple and red." She ran her fingertips down his sides and over his growing erection. "My," she said, "just look at John Thomas there, he seems to be enjoying this."

"Not fair," Jack protested. "You have clothes on again."

"Undress me, then," she whispered. "Or do I have to do everything myself?"

"You do it," he said, "and I'll watch."

She pulled out of his embrace and knelt on the bed, "No, I think I should give you a nice relaxing massage first. Wouldn't that feel good?" She rummaged around in the bag Martha had left, and came up with some oil. "Hmm, 'Arnica and almond oil: good for bruising and small lacerations.' Perfect. Turn over, please."

"This is just teasing, Gwen."

"Oh, no," she said, "this is clinical. The teasing comes later. Now turn over." She smeared some of the oil on her hands to warm it, and slathered it on his back, moving her hands from the nape of his neck to the back of his arms, and down his back, pressing very gently, and lightening her touch when he groaned softly. She cupped his buttocks in her hands and squeezed firmly before moving down the back of his legs to his feet. She re-oiled her hands and moved slowly up his legs again, finally teasing one small finger up the crack of his arse. He tensed, then laughed out loud.

"Turn over please," she said very calmly, but when he turned to face her, she felt herself blushing. She hid her face as she added more oil to her hands, and spread his knees to reach the tender inner parts of his upper thighs, then re-oiling her hands again, moved to his neck, the little spot between the clavicles, and his Adam's apple. She lifted his arms one by one and smoothed the oil into the hollows of his arms, down his forearms to his hands, rubbing circles over the small bones in his palm. One by one, she smoothed oil into his fingers and fingernails.

She massaged the taut muscles of his chest and lower abdomen, going lower, lower, into his pubic hair, and finally taking his erection firmly in hand. She stroked him, pulling back his foreskin, and took him into her mouth.

Jack groaned and arched against her, and she continued stroking with her hands, while her tongue and teeth teased the tip of his cock. She held his hips, and when she approached his arse again with her finger, he gasped, and pushed her off his penis. He came uncontrollably, spurting hot onto her hands and his own stomach. He was quivering, sweating, and almost rigid. As he relaxed out of his climax, Gwen lay down beside him and held him.

When he turned his head to her and smiled, it was like the sun coming out, she thought, and maybe the first real smile she'd seen from him in weeks. "You are amazing," he breathed. She sat up and pulled him into a sitting position, propping pillows to hold him up.

"I don't know why you'd be so stunned," she said. "I did these very things to you in my dreams every night for months. You seemed to like it then, too."

He reached for her hand. "Did you really dream of me?"

She touched his lips with hers, and laid her head on his shoulder and nodded. "Just like this," she said wickedly, "Naked, oiled, and completely under my control."

He flipped her onto her back and loomed above her. "Not so completely," he protested with a grin. "And now maybe it's up to me to take a bit of control. First," he said, pretending to consider his options. "Naked." He pulled her jersey up from the bottom and up over her head. He unlatched her bra _("thoughtful to have a front opening catch" he said, almost to himself),_ and dropped shirt and bra off the bed. Her breathing quickened. He turned his attention to her waist. "Hmm, sweatpants, well, that's no challenge at all," and he pulled them off her legs in one smooth movement.

"Now," he said, pausing to look down at her, "ooh, pretty lacy panties. We don't want to tear them. Or do we?" He hooked two fingers into the crotch of her panties and pulled them down slowly, sliding along every inch of her legs, and finally slipping them completely off her; to put them on his head like a hat.

She had to laugh, "You look demented!"

He took her underwear off his head and tossed them aside. "And you look delighted," he said, "and that makes me happy. Now where's that almond oil?" She pointed to the bedside table, and he picked up the bottle, carefully, because his hands were slippery. He straddled her hips and looked down at her. "You're beautiful, you know," his eyes caught hers and they were mesmerized for a moment. "I came back for you, only for you," he said softly.

"I know," she admitted.

"Now. Gwen," he rubbed oil between his hands and started at her shoulders and smoothed his hands over her body with extreme gentleness, but he didn't have her patience. He touched her between her legs. "Ready. I see," he mused. "We'll just see how long you can hold out against my magic fingers and my clever and oh-so-experienced tongue." He was as good as his word. She was so overcome that she wasn't sure when his tongue was replaced by his cock, and she was riding with him inside her, and flying, flying.


	5. Chapter 5

**Day Four**

_Another whole day passed in much the same way. _Gwen didn't know what time it was when she opened her eyes, and found Jack still holding her tightly.

Her improvised therapy was having the desired effect. She was able to see that the bruising was gone. His skin tones were almost back to normal, and she felt tears begin to roll down her cheeks. She wiped them away and propped herself up on one arm to really look at him. She had noticed small improvements in his physical condition over the course of the several days they had spent together.

Certainly his mood had changed. She knew that sex had always been important in his life, and he often scoffed at the quaint notions that this century had about labels, and how twenty-first century people discounted not only the joys, but the uses of the body.

Her plans for this particular course of therapeutic, ah, exercise, hadn't been entirely altruistic. Gwen had hoped not only that she could save Jack's life, jump-start him, remind him that he was a vital being, but she had also hoped that in being able to reopen his eyes to the possibilities of life, she would be able finally to exorcise her own dreams of him.

She knew now what she would have to do. She had saved him, she knew she had, and she was glad she had been able to go through with it. Deliriously glad. But now she had to let him go.

They were still naked, the daylight was going and she was feeling a sudden chill. She tried to reach down to pull up the sheet without disturbing Jack, and, without opening his eyes, he took her hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed her fingers. He reached for the end of the duvet and brought it up to cover them both. Then he took her hand again, and took each of her fingers into his mouth, sucking at her fingertips. Warmth seemed to pour off his body onto her, and his great warm hands were all over her, smoothing, touching, and stroking. She gave herself over to the sensations and suddenly thought that she would give up _almost_ anything if this could just continue forever. She tightened her arms around his chest and held him tightly. He repositioned her slightly and entered her again, moving slowly and sensuously. She could feel his breaths in the way his belly pressed against hers and soon they were breathing in unison. His hand in her hair turned her head so that he could take her mouth again, probing deeper with his tongue. She pulled back to take a shuddering breath.

"You taste so good," she whispered. He kissed her again and continued his explorations while his hands held her buttocks and moved her gently. She pressed her hands against his face, running her fingertips over his eyes and cheeks, and finally grasping his hair to keep him from pulling back from her.

He rocked her in his arms and managed to change the position of their legs without separating from her. He was over her, and under her, and they were sideways in the bed for a time, and upside down for another while. She was losing track of where they were, and still he was hard inside her, now pumping, now stroking.

As her climax built, she clamped down and it only seemed to make him grow harder, and she began to whimper as her orgasm took her. He released her mouth and she panted against his face, finally making little whimpering cries against his neck, and biting at him. When she calmed a little, and he was still moving inside her, she licked hungrily at the sweat on his shoulder. "Jack," she moaned, and held him tightly, to prevent him from moving out of her.

His climax was even more powerful than before, and she could feel it inside her. He stayed hard, and held her buttocks, holding her against him as he reversed positions again, moving her above him, and resting himself against the headboard. She was deliciously limp lying atop him, her breasts crushed against his chest, his hands entangled in her hair. Time stood still for long minutes until he finally slipped out of her, and she rolled off him to lie on her back, staying as close to him as she could. She reached over between his legs to take his cock in her hands. He was still engorged, and she held on to him as best she could, and he came again, on her hands and his legs.

Neither of them could move for a while after that, and they lay still, hands entwined. "Oh, my," she sighed, ". . . I want to stay like this."

He chuckled warmly against her shoulder. "I did the best I could," he said, "But now I'm sticky, and hungry."

She turned her luminous eyes to him, still lethargic from the sex. "Hungry?" she said slowly, as if she didn't understand.

He laughed out loud, and she thought it was the most wonderful sound she had heard in weeks. "Hungry," he said, reaching for the phone on the bedside table. She lay quietly while he phoned the Chinese restaurant they always used, and ordered vast amounts of food to be delivered, an amount that would have fed all of Torchwood.

He hung up the phone, and when he turned to her again, his blue eyes were glittering and shining. She managed not to cry.

He stood up and pulled her out of the bed. "We have forty-five minutes until the food arrives. Do you think we can be out of the shower by then?"

"I can think of better things to do for forty-five minutes."

He looked into her eyes with some surprise.

She ran her hands over his torso, now showing no signs of the terrible bruising. She pushed him back on the bed again and took a closer look at the wound on his thigh. It was completely healed, the stitches dissolved. She kissed the places where there should have been a scar, but the skin was completely unblemished. Her lips wandered to his groin again, and as she grasped his cock, it grew hard again. "You are incredible!" she exclaimed.

"So I've been told," he said immodestly, preening for her. She climbed on top of him again, and slipped him inside, straddling his hips. He reached up for her breasts, and she let him turn her again, looming over her. She writhed and screamed as she came, panting again. His climax was a bit later than hers, but it was as powerful as the times before, and she held him close. When they were both calmer, though thoroughly sweaty and sticky, she drew a long breath. "Now for the shower," she said.

"And I make it about five minutes until the food arrives," he said.

"Let them wait," she said.

_Later, feeding each other_ with chopsticks from the containers of food scattered about on the bed, both of them still naked, he said, "Why, Gwen?" he said, grown quiet suddenly, "Why did you do this?"

"For you, Jack," she said simply. "You needed to know that there were reasons for you to go on." She wiped her lips with a napkin, and threw her arms around him. "I only did what you and I have both wanted for all this time," she licked some plum sauce from where it had fallen on his chest.

"What about Rhys?"

"Rhys is my husband, and he will always be."

"And me?"

"I will always love you. But I know you're going to leave again. There is something else you need to find."

"I think I've just found it."

"I would never be enough for you, Jack," she said sadly, shaking her head. "I fit Rhys, though, and we're far too tame. You'll always need more excitement, more challenge. You can have it all, Jack, for those of us who can't be there." Her eyes filled with tears.

"But, Gwen, I don't want it _all_. I never wanted it _all_. I just wanted part of it. I'm tired of _all_."

She reached for him and he laid gently across her as she wrapped her arms around him. "What you do, what you are, is sometimes difficult for the rest of us to understand. The distances you've travelled to make us safe, the sacrifices you've had to make; and you've made them unflinchingly, even when we criticised you. Oh, Jack," she sobbed suddenly. "I don't want you to leave . . . and I know you have to." She held on to him desperately.

"You could come with me, Gwen," she heard him whisper into her ear as he tightened his hold on her. "The things I would show you. The places we could go, together."

She shook her head, "We want different things from life. I would never be able to keep up. I wanted you so badly that I couldn't imagine life without you in it. I loved loving you. But I understand more now. Find what you have to find, and come back some day and tell me about it."

"Why?" he said, sounding anguished. "You've just told me I can never have you."

"Because we're still a team, Jack. There may only be the two of us left, but we are still Torchwood."

He gripped her hands in his. "I do have places to go," he said, "and I may have to search farther than Cardiff, but I'll be back. And I will do whatever I have to do to win you."

She shook her head and pulled his hands down to rest on her belly. "By the time you get back, I'll be enormous, or maybe the baby will already be born." She held his hands in place for a minute. After Jack moved away from her, she could still feel the warmth of his hands on her body.


	6. Chapter 6

**Day Five**

Too soon, he was well and truly gone. Gwen heard the swish of the greatcoat as Jack gently closed the bedroom door. His watch and vortex/wrist strap were gone from the bedside table.

She closed her eyes tight to keep the tears back, and burrowed into the sheets trying to inhale the last of his scent. She pulled his pillow into her arms, hugging it tight, and fell into a dreamless sleep, not waking until early evening.

Gwen made herself get out of bed, padded into the bath, and used up all the hot water taking a long shower. She threw away the leftover Chinese food cartons, and changed the sheets, and did the laundry.

It was very late that night when she flipped open her phone and dialed Rhys. And when she heard his voice, she said, "Rhys . . . oh, sorry to wake you, darlin'. No, no, morning is fine, I'm just going to sleep now, too. Yes, Jack's fine, and he's gone. No, I don't know where, but he'll call when he's back. I'm just very tired, Rhys, and I love you."

Gwen went back into the bedroom, now aired out and the bed newly made up. She took another quick shower, and put on a silky nightdress that Rhys particularly liked. She was sure he'd be home before she woke up in the morning. She was tired to the bone. She needed to sleep. She climbed between the cool sheets, pulled the covers up over herself, and with the glass of water on the bedside table, took the level six Retcon tablet she had hidden in the drawer. Then she turned off the light, and cried herself to sleep.

_And, six months later,_ when Jack called, she was filled with an indescribable feeling. He had asked her to meet him late at night, at the end of a long road. Rhys insisted on driving.

"You can't drive, Gwen," he insisted. "You're in your ninth month, you shouldn't even be in a car."

"I have to, Rhys," she pleaded. "It's Jack."

He held off the rebuke that usually came immediately to his tongue and said, "Yes, sweetie, I know it's Jack. I'll drive you."

So there Jack was, standing at the top of a grassy hill, his coat moving in the wind that was so strong tonight. She was almost to him when he spoke to her. "You look good."

"I'm huge," she said. "Are you ok?"

Rhys hung in the background as they spoke.

Jack told her he was leaving, this time for good. She didn't really hear what he was saying, her tears rolling down her face. "I haven't travelled far enough yet."

"Are you ever coming back, Jack?"

"What for?" he said, his throat closing.

"Me." Tears started from her eyes as she said, "It wasn't your fault."

"I think it was," he said. "Stephen and Ianto, and Owen and Tosh, and Susie, the others. All of them, because of me."

"But you saved us, didn't you?"

"I began to like it," he admitted. "And look what I became." He took a deep breath, trying not to let her see his tears. "Still, I have lived so many lives. It's time to find another one."

"But they died," she choked out, "and I am sorry, Jack, but you cannot just run away."

"Oh, yes I can," he said holding her gaze, "just watch me."

When he was silent, she said only "You said you'd always come back for me."

"And I did," he kissed her eyes. "But now I have to go." Pressing a tab on his vortex manipulator, a beam dropped from the sky, consumed him, and lifted him away. He disappeared before her eyes, and she stood stock still, staring at the sky until Rhys came up to put his arms around her and led her back to the car.


End file.
